


you painted me golden

by Philosoferre



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosoferre/pseuds/Philosoferre
Summary: Edgar is sixteen when the words appear on his wrist.
Relationships: Edgar/Curtis Everett
Comments: 15
Kudos: 72





	you painted me golden

**Author's Note:**

> watch me try and revive this fandom... so i recently watched this movie for the first time and i haven't been able to stop thinking about it, like at all. and i love these boys so much - they deserve the whole damn world. so here's my attempt at giving them some much-deserved love! i hope you guys enjoy it! <3
> 
> title comes from dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift. this one's for my sister, who listens to me rant about curtis/edgar basically 24/7 :)

Edgar is sixteen when the words appear on his wrist, in delicate cursive unlike any handwriting he’s seen before. At first, he tries not to pay attention to them. Everyone always says they’re just relics of the old world. Soulmates don’t exist anymore.  _ Love _ doesn’t really exist anymore. 

So when he first sees those words, tattooed on his skin, he tries not to make a big deal. He hopes that maybe, if he tries hard enough, they’ll go away. That he won’t have to live with the way they burn and itch and scream for his attention. 

It happens while he’s hovering behind Curtis, waiting for an order, or his attention, or anything, really, and he notices the way Curtis’s eyes glow in the dim light, the way Painter’s lantern illuminates his face and turns his skin to warm gold. Edgar’s never seen the sky, but he likes to imagine it’d be the same blue as Curtis’s eyes. That’s what he thinks of when he goes to sleep: the comfort that somewhere out there is a big, endless expanse of familiar blue. The kind of blue that reminds him more of home than the train.

And in the span of a single breath, he realizes. He’s in love with Curtis. In  _ love _ \- holy shit. Edgar doesn’t know when it happened. He tries to think, maybe pinpoint the exact moment, but the harder he attempts, the more he realizes… he doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in love with Curtis. He’s always loved him, in one way or another. Maybe this was the next logical step. Maybe he was just always supposed to fall for Curtis Everett. Strong, beautiful, selfless Curtis. 

As he hovers a foot behind Curtis, wondering if this is the kind of old-world love everyone speaks of, his wrist starts itching. He absentmindedly pushes back his sleeve to scratch at his skin, more annoyed than anything else, not paying it any mind. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Curtis asks, eyes going wide as he notices Edgar for the first time. 

Edgar shrugs. “Dunno.”

He itches his wrist again, and when he looks down, he sees it. The mark. The words, imprinted on his skin, clearly visible.  _ How long have you been standing there? _ For a moment, he just stares at them, tries to etch them into his memory. He doesn’t know what to do with them, with himself, with the situation. With the way Curtis is looking at him, like he’s concerned.

Curtis frowns. “What? What is it, Edgar?”

Edgar fumbles to push his sleeve down and cover up the words before Curtis can read them. “Nothing,” he says. It comes out rushed and suspicious, but he doesn’t care. “Don’t worry. I just, uh… I’m gonna go wash up.”

He hurries off before Curtis gets the chance to say anything else. Grey gives him a strange, quizzical look, but Edgar just waves him off. He can’t think of anything except the bloody words. Why did it have to be Curtis, of all people? He’ll probably never love Edgar the same way, probably sees him as a son or bullshit like that. Unless - maybe he has his mark, too. Maybe Curtis already knows. 

Edgar seriously doesn’t know what he’d do if that were the case. 

Their makeshift bathroom is thankfully empty. Edgar shoves an old barrel against the door to make sure no one else can get inside, and then he rolls his sleeve up, turns on the water, and sticks his arm under it. He scrubs at the words, scrubs and scrubs and scrubs, but they don’t rub off. Nothing happens. They’re still as bold and fresh as when they first appeared, not even a little faded. Shit. So they’re absolutely, positively, irreversibly real. He can’t take them back, can’t pretend they don’t exist. He can’t erase them, no matter how much he thinks it’d make his life a whole lot easier. 

Edgar crumbles to the ground, his knees hitting the hard metal floor, buries his face in his hands. It’s just his luck to fall in love with Curtis. It’s just his luck to fall for the one person on the entire bloody train who probably doesn’t spare love or soulmates a second thought, who doesn’t show affection the way others do. Maybe he doesn’t even feel affection for anyone; maybe he’s solely focused on the goddamn rebellion, on getting to the front of this stupid train. 

He’ll probably never love Edgar the same way, if at all. He’ll probably always just tolerate him. He only lets Edgar hang around him because he feels bad that he has no one else, anyway. 

There’s a gentle knock at the door. It startles Edgar out of his train of thought, and he automatically pulls down his sleeve before he gets up. 

“Edgar?” It’s Curtis; Edgar would recognize his voice anywhere, even at the farthest ends of the earth, even amongst a million others. “You okay?”

Edgar glances at himself in the mirror, smoothes down his mussed-up hair, and takes a deep breath before he answers the door. “I’m fine,” he says. 

Curtis opens his mouth to reply, but Edgar snakes past before he can actually say anything. He thinks it’s a good idea to avoid Curtis for the time being; it’d probably be better for everyone that way, and it might help get rid of the bloody soulmate mark. At the very least, he needs some time to figure out what this means. He’s never been in love before, and all the older people on the train don’t like telling him much about what it’s like. He used to beg Curtis, and Tanya and Andrew and even Gilliam, for stories; he used to desperately crave any bit of information they gave him.  _ It feels like butterflies, _ Tanya had told him, when he asked how you know you’re in love.  _ Like your stomach is full of butterflies, and they’re flyin’ around, trying to get out. _

He had to ask what a butterfly was, much to everyone’s amusement, and even though Tanya tried her best to explain it, he never fully understood. But he thinks maybe now he gets it - that fluttery feeling that echoes in every fiber of your being. He never gave it much mind, but he always gets it when Curtis pays attention to him. He gets fluttery and jittery and he feels like his bones are going to turn to jelly. It happens every time Curtis puts a hand on his shoulder, messes up his hair, pulls him aside and talks to him in a hushed voice, like what he’s saying is meant for him alone. It happens when Curtis crouches down, just a little, so that they’re talking face-to-face, and when he tells him to shut up and go to sleep. 

Edgar still doesn’t know if this whole being-in-love-with-Curtis thing is good or bad. It seems inevitable, when he really thinks about it, like it was always meant to happen. But he doesn’t know what’ll happen if -- or when -- Curtis finds out. Will he hate Edgar, shun him, reject him? Will he try and give Edgar what he wants, even if he doesn’t return the sentiment? Will he pity Edgar for falling in love with him? The consequences of this seem far scarier, and far riskier, than standing up to Wilford’s guards. Honestly, Edgar would much rather defy them than confess his feelings to Curtis.

He bumps into Tanya on his way to his bunk, where he’s hoping to get a little room to breathe. Until now, he’d mostly been walking around mindlessly, just trying to avoid Curtis, but he’s getting tired of that. It’s easier to hide in his bed than anywhere else in the train, surprisingly. Curtis usually leaves him alone if he asks when he’s there, but he never leaves Edgar alone if he’s trying to avoid him anywhere else.

“Sorry, Tanya,” he says. 

He turns to continue walking, but Tanya catches his arm before he can leave. She frowns at him, almost like she’s worried. 

“Are you all right?” She asks. 

Edgar shrugs. “Yup.”

Tanya doesn’t look very convinced. “Curtis has been looking for you,” she says, mouth set in a firm line. 

“Well, that’s his fuckin’ problem,” Edgar huffs. And, okay, he doesn’t intend to be rude to Tanya, but he just really wants to be on his own right. “Tell him to stop.”

He expects Tanya to get mad, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just sighs and says, voice gentle, “Edgar, honey, you can talk to me. If something’s up--”

“Nothing’s up,” Edgar interrupts. He takes a step back, and Tanya releases her grip on his arm. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I promise.”

“Okay,” Tanya says, still sounding unconvinced. “Get some rest.”

Edgar feels a little bad about lying to her, but it’s for the best, anyway. It’s not like she’d be able to help if she knew what the problem was. And then, of course, there’s the way she might react. She could berate Edgar for his crush, though she doesn’t seem like the type, or pity him for being so foolish. Edgar’s heard stories of how people in the old world used to hate men who loved other men and women who loved other women, though he doesn’t understand why. Tanya assured him that no one cares anymore, but what if they secretly still do? What if people will hate him for loving Curtis the way he does? Even if he tries his best to hide it, they might still find out. The tail section is small, and word gets around fast. 

And there’s the possibility that Tanya would actually do something about the situation. She’s one of the only people who can actually  _ talk _ to Curtis -- maybe she’d just give him a heads-up:  _ by the way, Edgar’s in love with you _ . God forbid, maybe she’d even try and set them up. “Match-making” is what Louis called it. 

Regardless, though, it isn’t her burden to bear. It isn’t something Tanya needs to know, not a secret she should have to keep. She’s got worse things to worry about, like that little rascal Timmy. She doesn’t need to make room in her life for Edgar’s stupid problems. 

This is something he needs to deal with alone. 

Thankfully, Curtis isn’t near the bunks when Edgar finally gets there. He settles in his bed and curls up under his blanket - it’s thin and ratty, and it had once belonged to Curtis, but he gave it to Edgar because he “needed it more”. And, shit, thinking about that definitely isn’t helping him bury his feelings. He lets out a huff and rolls over to face the wall, tries to occupy himself with imagining what the world looks like outside. A never-ending winter, or so he’s been told. But he doesn’t even know what winter is. 

_ Ice. And snow, _ Curtis had told him.  _ Lots and lots of it. Everything’s white and cold.  _

Andrew had chimed in with a very unhelpful,  _ Like in Frozen. _

Edgar had to ask what  _ Frozen _ was. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember that day. He must’ve been nine, or ten, and as the years went by, he grew more and more curious about the old world. He asked anyone and everyone, all day, about what they remembered, what it was like, if they miss it. Whenever one of the adults decided it was officially story time, he’d get bundled up in Curtis’s coat -- so big on him, even now -- and seated on someone’s lap -- usually Tanya’s, or Curtis’s if he bothered to stay -- and he’d listen, wide-eyed and in awe, taking in whatever he was told. Curtis wasn’t there often, and if he was, he never shared anything about himself. He’d just sit there, as quiet as the other kids, holding Edgar close like he was afraid to lose him. 

Edgar’s startled awake by a warm hand on his shoulder. He lets out a quiet breath; he didn’t even realize he fell asleep. He almost turns over to tell whoever it is to fuck off and let him sleep, but then he realizes how familiar their touch is, and his heart starts pounding in his chest. Of course it’s Curtis. 

“Hey,” Curtis whispers. It must be curfew, then. Everyone else is probably already asleep. “You wanna talk?”

Edgar huffs, pulls the blanket tighter around himself. “Not really, no.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything. Edgar thinks that maybe Curtis is going to leave him alone, but then he hears Curtis climb into his bunk, followed by the familiar sound of him shifting around so he can still see him. He does that when he has something on his mind, when he wants to talk. Edgar isn’t really in the mood for much chatting. 

“You sure?” Curtis asks. 

If Edgar focuses enough, he can make out Curtis’s arm in the dark, dangling off the side of his bunk. He opts to stare at the black expanse of the wall instead. 

“Yeah,” Edgar says. He fakes a yawn. “I’m just really tired.”

There’s a pause. And then Curtis says, “Okay. I just… I was just making sure. Good night, then.”

Edgar mumbles out a half-assed response, and proceeds to spend the rest of the night trying to figure out why, exactly, he’s fallen in love so hard. 

* * *

Edgar spends the next few days trying to avoid Curtis as much as possible. Whenever Curtis asks him to do something, he pretends to be busy and then hides away until it’s safe to go out again. He knows he might be acting a little unreasonably, but it helps him deal with his feelings because he doesn’t have to confront them. It’s nice to spend a few hours denying that he’s in love, not having to face the person he’s in love with. Sometimes, Grey hangs out with him, and they just exist together in silence. 

At night, though, it’s harder to avoid Curtis. He always asks Edgar about his day, what he was doing, if he’ll be free tomorrow. Edgar can’t ever find it in himself to turn Curtis away, though he has pretended to be asleep a few times. He always feels guilty afterwards, though; Curtis always sounds so disappointed when he doesn’t get a response. He wonders if it might just be better 

Edgar’s searching for Grey when he gets dragged into a secluded corner and pressed against a wall. He knows it’s Curtis even before he says anything -- no one else would be desperate enough to talk to him. He’s a little touched that Curtis wants to see him so bad.

“What the fuck is going on with you lately?” Curtis asks, his hand still fisted in the collar of Edgar’s jacket. “Seriously. Don’t lie to me.”

Edgar tries his very best not to focus on how close they are, not to think about how easy it’d be to kiss Curtis right now. He tears his gaze away and swallows around the lump in his throat. “Nothing’s going on,” he lies.

Curtis barely manages to contain his anger; he hits his free hand against the wall, so loud that it makes Edgar jump. He lets out a ragged breath, like he’s trying to control himself, but he doesn’t step back. Edgar feels his heart pound in his chest. 

“God  _ fucking _ dammit, Edgar,” Curtis growls. “You’re a shit liar. I know something’s going on, I just don’t know what.”

Edgar’s brain is short-circuiting; the only thing he can think of is how much he really wants Curtis to slam him against a wall again. He manages to mumble out a half-assed, “Nothing’s going on, why don’t you just--”

“Tell me,” Curtis says, and if he sounds a little desperate, neither of them bring it up. “Just tell me.” He takes a step back, releasing Edgar’s coat, and sighs. “You know you can talk to me, right? About… whatever it is. I’m here for you.”

That’s kind of the problem, Edgar thinks. If he does tell Curtis what’s truly going on, he risks losing the most important person in his life. And sure, he has other friends, and other people he can turn to, but none of them can even begin to compare. None of them are Curtis, plain and simple. He doesn’t love them in the same all-consuming way, doesn’t think of any of them as home. If he loses Curtis, he loses a part of himself. 

“I know,” Edgar says, so soft and quiet that he’s barely sure Curtis can hear him. “But really, it’s nothing, I--”

Curtis groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, just fucking tell me already, it can’t be that--”

“I got my mark,” Edgar blurts, before he can even think it through. He reaches down to hold his sleeve right against his skin, blocking any view Curtis might have of the words. 

For a moment, Curtis doesn’t say anything. “What?”

Edgar can’t hear anything beyond the erratic pounding of his heart. “My soulmate mark,” he says. “I, uh… I got it. And I just. Um. I needed some time to, you know… process it.”

“Oh,” Curtis breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “Right. Yeah, of course.”

He looks… hurt, maybe, or disappointed. Edgar doesn’t get a chance to put his finger on it before Curtis puts on his usual, stony expression and nods. Whatever that means. His silence is worse than any other reaction. Edgar can deal with anger, with sadness, with happiness -- but not with this. 

  
  


“I’m happy for you,” Curtis says, but it sounds forced. Like he doesn’t mean it. 

Edgar looks at his eyes, tries to figure out what he’s really thinking, but Curtis is as closed off as ever. He doesn’t even get to reply before Curtis walks away, and then he’s left alone, confused and hurt. He doesn’t know why he’s hurt -- he has no reason to be. But there was just something about the way Curtis had said that. Maybe it was relief? Maybe he’s glad that Edgar has someone else to hang around. Or maybe… maybe he’s sad, because he thinks he’s not Edgar’s soulmate. 

He doesn’t know what to do, and he isn’t in the mood to go find Grey, or anyone else. Edgar leans against the wall and closes his eyes, traces the words on his skin through his sleeve. When he was first told about soulmates, he remembers begging everyone to see their marks. He used to think it was the most romantic thing in the world -- having the first words your soulmate says to you after you realize you love them ingrained on your skin for eternity, like a reminder. Like the universe’s way of reaffirming your love. He remembers chasing after Curtis to see his words once he’d already seen everyone else’s. 

_ Please, please, please, _ he’d beg, climbing up to Curtis’s bed in the middle of the night to try and get a glimpse. 

For the first few times, Curtis just told him no. But he kept pestering and pestering, ever the maddeningly curious kid, until one day Curtis explained that he didn’t have his soulmate mark yet.

_ So you’ve never been in love? _ Edgar had asked, wide-eyed in disbelief. Surely, that couldn’t be true. Everyone has to fall in love at some point, right? Everyone has to have a soulmate.

All Curtis had responded was,  _ Just because you fall in love with someone, it doesn’t mean they’re your soulmate. _

When he was younger, Edgar used to imagine the person Curtis once loved. He’d lay awake in bed, dreaming up what she’d look like, wondering what she would have been like. He made up stories about her being a hero, a fighter like Curtis. He figured she must’ve been taken away, and that’s why he didn’t remember her, why Curtis was grumpy and didn’t show affection. He used to dream of being the one to bring her back; he thought that if he did that, Curtis would be happy again, and he’d love him even more. 

Now, though, he knows better than to think that. There probably never was a girl, a mysterious love of Curtis’s life, because he’s sure that if she did exist, he would’ve heard something from someone eventually. People here aren’t as good at keeping secrets as they like to think; Edgar knows a lot of things about people that he shouldn’t. 

He stays there, caught up in his thoughts, until Tanya finds him and asks him to look after Timmy for a while. But he can’t stop going back to what Curtis had said, repeating it over and over in his mind.  _ I’m happy for you. _ Edgar wishes he felt the same. 

* * *

Things don’t really go back to normal. Edgar hoped that they would, that the whole having-his-soulmate-mark thing wouldn’t drive a wedge between them, but it does. Or at least, Curtis seems to think so. He avoids Edgar for weeks afterwards, but he always makes it seem like it’s not on purpose, like he just so happens to be busy every time they run into each other. And maybe it’s a little unfair of Edgar to be so hurt, considering he did the exact same thing, but he thinks it’s unwarranted. So Curtis has a problem with the fact that he has his soulmate mark -- he has no reason to avoid him. 

Every time Edgar tries asking someone -- Gilliam, or Tanya, or literally anyone else -- about it, if Curtis ever talks about him, they dismiss the subject. They’re all acting like it isn’t fucking weird for Curtis and Edgar to be spending so much time apart. Gilliam used to say they were attached at the hip. What happened to that? 

“You know he still cares about you, right?” Tanya asks one day. 

She and Edgar are sitting on the floor in front of her bunk, watching Timmy have the time of his life with the ball. Edgar used to love it too, but he doesn’t really get any kicks out of it anymore. He guesses he’s just grown up. 

“I don’t know,” Edgar says, shrugging. He picks at a loose thread on his jacket. “I don’t know shit about him.”

Tanya turns to look at him, an inscrutable expression on her face. “You’re kidding. Curtis tells you more than he tells everyone else. Even me. Out of all of us, you probably know the most.”

That sounds like a blatant lie, like the kind of thing someone says because they think it’ll make the situation better. But Tanya looks like she means every word, and that’s a little disconcerting. 

Edgar scoffs. “Yeah, right,” he huffs. 

“He’s never told us what his life was like before,” Tanya continues, and now she’s really trying to prove her point. “We don’t know where he lived, what kinds of things he used to do. What his favourite colour is.”

“Blue, I think,” Edgar says, and it rolls off his tongue like an instinct, like something he doesn’t even have to think about. “And he lived in New York, wherever that even was.”

He only knows that because Curtis had told him, one night when neither of them could sleep, that the one thing he missed more than anything else, besides his family, was the sky. The blue, blue sky. 

_ The sky wasn’t always blue in New York _ , he’d said.  _ But I liked when it was. I could spend hours just looking up at it. _

“See?” Tanya says, her voice gentle. 

Edgar lets out a breath. So maybe he does know things, maybe Curtis does tell him more than he tells anyone else. But that doesn’t  _ mean _ anything. It’s the exact same thing as Tanya telling him all about her childhood. 

Except he knows, on some level, it isn’t. Curtis doesn’t like talking about himself, especially about his past -- so why would he talk to Edgar, of all people, about it? There are a million other people who’d probably understand him better, who’d know what he means when he talks about New York and blue skies.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Edgar says.

Tanya pats his knee and says, sighing like they’ve been over this a thousand times, “I think you know it does.”

* * *

“Does it bother you?” Edgar asks. 

He hasn’t spoken to Curtis the whole day, and now that it’s night and everyone else is asleep, he feels like it might be his only chance. And anyway, it’s easier to muster up the courage to say something when the darkness hides him. 

Edgar shifts, tucks his arm under his pillow, and waits for a reply. He knows Curtis isn’t asleep; he’s been tossing and turning restlessly for a while, and his breaths are too shallow. Like he’s trying to pretend he’s asleep, but it isn’t working. 

Finally, he hears Curtis sigh, and then: “Does what bother me?”

Edgar’s pretty sure Curtis knows, but he obliges him anyway. “That I have my mark,” he whispers. 

“No,” Curtis says, way too quick. He must’ve had the answer on the tip of his tongue. “Why would you think that?”

He doesn’t sound particularly mad, but Edgar still thinks he is. He’s probably offended that Edgar would even think something like that, even if it’s justified. He hasn’t been acting like he’s okay with it, so what’s he supposed to believe? That it isn’t a problem?

Edgar shrugs, buries his face in his pillow. His voice is muffled when he says, “I dunno. I was just wondering.”

“Well, it doesn’t bother me,” Curtis says matter-of-factly. And then he adds, much gentler, “Go to sleep. Stop worrying about that.”

Edgar sighs. “Yeah, sure. Good night, then.”

“Good night, Edgar,” Curtis replies. 

And if Edgar imagines the softness in his voice, the way he said his name like a breath he’s been holding in for a long time, then that’s his business. No one needs to know. No one needs to know that when he finally manages to fall asleep, he dreams of kissing Curtis, of being held in strong arms, of feeling the familiar, steady beat of his heart when he wakes up. 

* * *

By the time his seventeenth birthday is around the corner, things have started to mellow out. Edgar, at least, tries not to avoid Curtis as much as he used to, and Curtis doesn’t pretend he has other things to do. They talk, and even though they still never mention Edgar’s soulmate mark, it’s nice. It’s enough. It gives Edgar hope that eventually, things will be exactly as they used to, and his mark won’t be such a nuisance. 

Sometimes, though, he catches Curtis slipping into his old habit. He notices it when Curtis starts saying something only to cut himself off, or when his gaze lingers on Edgar’s wrist like he’s trying to read the words through his sleeve, or when he side-eyes Grey. At first, Edgar thought it was because Curtis found out about his crush -- his love -- and hated him for it. But it never really added up; Curtis always makes it glaringly obvious when he doesn’t like someone else, and this isn’t it. Sure, he’s awkward sometimes, but he still tolerates most of Edgar’s bullshit and gives him his coat when he gets cold, and that isn’t what you do with people you hate. 

So then Edgar got to thinking… maybe Curtis has an idea of who his soulmate is. Maybe he thinks he’s figured it out, and he just doesn’t know how to approach the subject. And the more dirty glances Curtis sends Grey’s way, the more reasonable that starts to become. 

“You know, Curtis thinks you’re my soulmate,” Edgar says. He glances at Grey before turning back to the scuff marks on his shoes.

Grey tilts his head, confused, and then points to a word tattooed on his arm:  _ why? _

Edgar shrugs. “Dunno. He’s dumb.” He pauses, sighs. Grey makes a gesture, urging him to go on. “I don’t know how to tell him. Or -- if I even should.”

He never meant to tell anyone about this, but Grey figured it out on his own. He’s smart and observant, so of course he’d be the one to notice Edgar’s infatuation. He thought he was being subtle, but apparently not. He’s glad, at least, that the one person who knows is also the one person who can’t say anything. It sounds like one of those “miracles” everyone’s always talking about. 

“Should I tell him?” Edgar asks, lowering his voice so that no one else can hear. “What do you think?”

Grey doesn’t do anything for a moment, eyes narrowed thoughtfully at something in the distance, and then he points to another tattoo.  _ Yes. _

“I shouldn’t have asked for your opinion,” Edgar mutters. 

Grey doesn’t look impressed. He hugs his knees to his chest and rests his chin on his hands, ever the good, encouraging listener. He probably has an old soul, like Tanya says. 

Edgar sighs again. “But what if he rejects me? Then what do I do? No offense, but he’s my best friend, man. I don’t wanna lose him.” He pauses; Grey smiles, warm and comforting. “I don’t even know how I’d bring that up. Like,  _ hey Curtis, turns out I’m in love with you and you’re my soulmate. _ ”

He can’t very well say that. Well, technically he can, but it isn’t a good idea. He doesn’t know how Curtis will react, and sure, he might be a little reckless, but he’s not  _ that _ much of an idiot. In this situation, it’d probably be best to stay cautious, take things slow. Test the waters, as it were. He needs to find out how Curtis feels about him before he says anything. 

Grey taps Edgar on the shoulder, so gently that at first, he doesn’t notice. He turns to see what he wants -- and finds Grey holding his hands up in a makeshift heart. Edgar just rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t think he likes me that way,” he says, shaking his head. 

Grey persists, making the heart gesture again. He seems so determined to get this message across, but Edgar doesn’t know why. It’s not like Grey has any real proof that Curtis likes him the same way. Unless… maybe he does. What if Curtis confessed something to him, confided in him? Maybe he knows something that Edgar doesn’t. 

“Did he tell you?” Edgar asks, nudging Grey’s shoulder. 

Grey shrugs. He doesn’t make another gesture. Instead, he looks at Edgar like he should be able to figure it out himself, or he should already know the answer. But he doesn’t, and now it’s going to drive him insane. 

“Grey,” Edgar urges, “did Curtis tell you he loves me?”

Once again, Grey doesn’t respond. He doesn’t point to a tattoo or anything -- he just sits there, smiling, completely unhelpful. Sometimes, Edgar gets really frustrated with him. He waits, hoping that maybe Grey’s just thinking of the best way to tell him whatever it is he’s thinking of, but nothing happens. He doesn’t even make that heart gesture again, which -- as annoying as it is -- would be a lot more helpful than silence. 

“If you have an answer, let me know,” Edgar says. “That’d be really fuckin’ nice.”

He claps Grey on the shoulder before he leaves. There’s nothing he hates more than wallowing in self-pity and mulling over his dumb luck, and he’d rather not spend the rest of the day waiting for Grey to give him some sort of hint. So he figures, since he doesn’t really have anything else to do, he might as well go find Curtis and see what he’s up to. He’s always doing something; maybe he could use a little help, or company, or whatever. Edgar’s not picky.

Curtis is talking to Gilliam in a hushed, conspiratorial voice when Edgar finds him. The curtain that blocks Gilliam’s place isn’t closed, but it’s obvious their conversation isn’t meant to be heard, so Edgar doesn’t go inside. He can take a hint when he sees one. Instead, he leans against the wall, shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries not to focus on their voices. 

“Edgar.” 

Edgar startles, glancing up to see Curtis hovering beside him, looking confused. In the dim light, he’s the most beautiful goddamn thing Edgar has ever seen. 

“What’re you doing here?” Curtis asks. He doesn’t sound mad like he usually is when he finds out Edgar’s been lurking around him, trying to get in on the action. 

Edgar waves his hand around vaguely and shrugs. “Oh, I was just… you know. Looking for you. I was wondering what you’re up to.” He pauses. “I’m bored, I’ve got nothing to do.”

“Oh,” Curtis says. “Well, I wasn’t-- I’m not really doing anything. But um…” He jerks his thumb in Gilliam’s direction and clears his throat. “You can probably ask to borrow one of his books, if you want.”

Edgar nods. “Sure, yeah. I might as well.”

Curtis lingers for a second too long, not saying anything, and then he turns in the opposite direction and heads off. Edgar watches him go, sighing. Christ, he’s such a fool for Curtis fucking Everett. He needs to get a grip on himself. 

He’s not really in the mood to read, but it passes the time, and Curtis says it’s a good habit to keep up. For what, though, Edgar doesn’t know. It’s not like it’s ever come in handy. But it makes Curtis happy, and Tanya appreciates it when he reads to Timmy and the other kids, so he does it anyway. He’s gone through most of the books Gilliam has by now -- he doesn’t have a lot, so eventually Edgar supposes he’ll just have to reread them. 

Today’s book is a collection of short stories by some “Ernest Hemingway”, whoever that was. Edgar takes it back to his bunk and flops down on his stomach, propping it up on his makeshift pillow. He gets halfway through the first story before some kids come to bother him -- they always magically show up when they see he has a new book. He obliges them, even though he’s kind of tired, and it’s always so draining to read aloud. But they love it, and their parents appreciate it, and he has to admit, it is a little fun. It makes life a little easier, a little more bearable.

Edgar doesn’t even notice Curtis, listening to him read, leaning against the bunk across from him, until he’s gone through two stories. He sends the kids off then, making up some excuse about his throat getting sore. Really, though, he wants to be able to talk to Curtis without all those eyes watching them. 

“You have a really nice voice,” Curtis says, so casually, so effortlessly it makes Edgar’s heart skip a beat. “I mean-- when you read. You read really well.”

Edgar ducks his head so that Curtis can’t see his blush. “Thanks. The kids seem to like it, so.”

“Right,” Curtis says. He looks like he has something on his mind. “Look, I… I know it’s early, and New Year’s is tomorrow, but I just--” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “I wanted to give you something, and, you know… I wanted it to be special. Just for you.”

Edgar’s breath catches in his throat. His heart is pounding so loud, he’s sure Curtis can hear it too. 

“Just for me,” he repeats. 

Curtis nods, and now he’s blushing, like he’s embarrassed. “Yeah, for you. Here, uh-- Gilliam said you could have it. I thought you’d like it.”

Curtis grabs something from behind him and hands it to Edgar, and if their hands touch for longer than necessary, that isn’t anyone else’s business. Edgar doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. 

A book. His very own book. 

It’s old and worn, definitely used and well-loved, but it’s still beautiful. Still perfect. Still the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever gotten him. And actually, now that he thinks about it, it’s got to be the first gift he’s received in years. 

“Happy early birthday, Edgar,” Curtis says. 

Edgar doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He stumbles until he finds the right words. “Curtis,” he whispers, “thank you.”

Curtis rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head, but he’s smiling, grinning like a fool. “You deserve it. It took me a long time to find something, you know, and then I wasn’t even sure if you’d want--”

“Curtis,” Edgar interrupts. He sets the book down beside him, ghosts his fingers over the letters on the cover.  _ Pride and Prejudice _ \-- he’s never read this one before. “Having you is enough.”

It sounds too much like a confession, but that’s okay. He wants -- needs -- Curtis to know how much he appreciates him and all that he does for him. Curtis gives Edgar the entire world, would probably do anything if he asked, and Edgar just wishes he could do the same. He wants to give Curtis everything he can, even if it isn’t much, even if it’s just himself and his love and his loyalty. 

Without thinking, Edgar pulls Curtis in for a hug. He wraps his arms around Curtis’s back, settles his face against his chest, and closes his eyes. He feels Curtis freeze, like he’s unsure of what to do, but then his hands come to rest on Edgar’s waist, burning through his jacket. It’s nice, Edgar thinks, to have this little pocket of the world for themselves. To get to sway here and exist, not worrying about anything, not rushing off to do something. He finds comfort in the steady, rhythmic beat of Curtis’s heart, in the strong arms holding him close. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, muffled against Curtis’s coat. 

He feels Curtis press a soft, barely-there kiss to the top of his head, and then Curtis murmurs, “Anything for you.”

* * *

Sometimes, it’s easy to push down his feelings and pretend they don’t exist. When Edgar is busy running after Curtis and trying to find out what’s going on, get in on whatever Gilliam’s recruiting him for, he gets a momentary break. But then Curtis grabs his arm and tells him it’s not his business, he’s too young to be involved, and everything bubbles up again, threatening to spill over in a confession he can’t take back. As the months go on, Edgar’s love for him only grows stronger. He only dreams of Curtis now, spends most of his waking hours wondering what it’d be like to kiss him and hold him and be loved by him. 

He wishes there was a way he could just… stop loving Curtis, and then maybe being around him wouldn’t be so painful and maybe his life would be easier, but there isn’t. This is the kind of old-world love everyone always talks about -- all-consuming, pure, ingrained in his DNA. It’d be impossible for him not to love Curtis Everett. 

At least, though, Edgar gets to escape it for a while when he reads the book.  _ Pride and Prejudice _ is long, and sometimes boring, and he doesn’t always understand what the fuck he’s reading, but it’s still good. He reads whenever he gets a chance, spends entire days curled up on his bed, completely engrossed in the book. Sometimes -- he can’t help himself -- he imagines himself as Elizabeth and Curtis as Darcy, and he dreams of what it’d be like to live with him in a big house, all to themselves. 

“I read it once, a long, long time ago,” Tanya says, when Edgar tells her about the book. “It’s a classic for a reason. One of the best love stories ever written.”

Edgar thinks that should probably mean something. There has to be a reason Curtis gave him a love story and not some other book. But he isn’t going to give himself any false hopes, so he doesn’t bring it up. 

“Has Curtis ever read it?” He asks instead. 

Tanya hums, tilts her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe in school.”

Edgar wonders if Curtis liked it, if he did read it. He doesn’t really seem like the romance type, but maybe he once was. Edgar doesn’t know much about who he was before the train, but he knows it changed him. So maybe, in another life, Curtis read love stories all the time, and maybe they were his favourite kind of book, and maybe he had a copy of  _ Pride and Prejudice _ that was so worn out from all the times he reread it. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So much speculation. 

“You could ask him,” Tanya continues, nudging Edgar’s shoulder. 

Edgar follows her gaze to where Curtis is standing a few feet away, leaning against one of the bunks as he talks to Alice. 

“I don’t wanna interrupt,” Edgar says, shaking his head. 

Tanya huffs. “Edgar, honey, he’d never turn you away.”

Edgar glances at her, and then at Curtis, and then back at her. He’s pretty sure she’s wrong -- Curtis has turned him away loads of times, has told him to leave whenever he was busy and didn’t want to be bothered -- but he feels like she means something else. Something  _ more _ than what she said. Lately, he’s been getting the suspicious feeling that everyone knows something he doesn’t. And he fucking hates it. 

Eventually, Edgar does go up to him. He figures, fuck it, he doesn’t particularly care if Curtis tells him he’s busy right now; he’ll just ask again later. But Tanya kept encouraging him to go, like she knows Curtis will give him an actual answer or something, so he thought he might as well do it now. 

Edgar taps Curtis’s shoulder to get his attention. He’s surprised when Curtis actually turns around and doesn’t greet him with a  _ what now? _

“Hey,” Edgar says. “Have you ever read  _ Pride and Prejudice _ ?”

Curtis crosses his arms and lets out a small, thoughtful huff. He seems to have forgotten that he was just in the middle of a conversation. “No, I don’t think I ever did. I think I just saw the movie. Why?”

Edgar shrugs. “Oh, I was just wondering. You know, ‘cause I’m… reading it.”

Curtis lets out another thoughtful hum. “Maybe you could read it to me sometime.”

“Uh. I--” Edgar doesn’t know what to say to that. “I thought you could… can’t you just read it yourself?”

“I mean, I could,” Curtis says, laughing, and it’s the first time Edgar has seen him really smile in a long time. “But I like hearing you read.”

“Oh,” Edgar says, soft and barely more than a breath. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. He presses his fingers to the words on his wrist. “If you’re not busy now, I could-- I mean, but only if--”

Curtis waves his hand dismissively. “I was just finishing something up. I’m not busy. And besides, I think I wanted to read it, once. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.”

Edgar hovers a few feet away, trying not to be disruptive or annoying, while Curtis talks to Alice about whatever-the-fuck. And then, once Alice leaves, they head back to their bunk, where Edgar left the book. He’s a little past halfway through - he still has to do other things besides read, after all - but he figures it’d be a good idea to start from the beginning. Curtis probably doesn’t remember much about it, and he wouldn’t be able to understand what’s going on now without context, anyway. 

Curtis sits on one end of his bed, and Edgar settles on the other, leaning against the wall with the book propped in his lap. He knows it’s just reading aloud, and he does this all the time, but it feels so much more personal now. Intimate, even. His heart is pounding, his hands are sweaty, he’s afraid he won’t be able to say a single word without stammering.

“Okay, I’m gonna…” Edgar says, taking a sharp breath. He glances up as he opens the book. Curtis nods encouragingly. “Right. Okay. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…’”

* * *

Edgar manages to get to the eighth chapter before he gets distracted, and then he finds he just can’t focus on the book anymore. Since basically the moment he started reading, Curtis has been watching him with this weird, unreadable expression. It’s disconcerting, mostly because Edgar can’t tell what he’s thinking, but also because there’s something unmistakably soft about the way he’s looking at him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it’s almost… affectionate. 

“Is blue your favourite colour?” Edgar asks, folding the page he’s on so he won’t lose his spot.

Curtis is looking at him like he’s a revelation. All blue eyes, the barest hint of a smile hidden behind his hand. Edgar has to glance away to stop himself from blushing. 

Curtis sounds a little distracted when he finally speaks. “What?” 

He’s scratching his wrist. At first, Edgar tries to look away, pay no mind, because it might not be what he’s thinking, but his gaze keeps drifting back. Some part of him desperately hopes that Curtis has his soulmate mark, that he’s the object of Curtis’s affections. That his love isn’t one-sided. 

“It’s just, I remember you saying,” Edgar says, clears his throat, “that you liked the sky. And I figured, y’know, that maybe-- I was just… wondering.”

“Oh, yeah, I used to do that all the time when you were a ki--” Curtis pauses. Something passes in his eyes, dark and troubled. “--when you were younger. It helped you sleep, when you had nightmares.”

Edgar remembers that. He used to get nightmares all the time, though he could never remember what they were about. When he was younger, he’d crawl up to Curtis’s bunk every time he woke up terrified, too scared to sleep by himself, and Curtis would tell him stories about the old world. He’d fall asleep to whispers of blue skies and sunsets on the beach and stars, and the familiar, comfortable warmth of being held in Curtis’s arms. He doesn’t really know when he grew out of it, but eventually he just stopped getting nightmares, and Curtis stopped letting him in his bed. 

“Do you wanna continue?” Edgar asks, instead of properly addressing the tension between them. 

Curtis looks confused, like he’s forgotten what they were doing before. Edgar holds the book up. 

“Oh, sure,” Curtis says, nodding. “If you’re up for it.”

Edgar lets out a breath -- he’s relieved, for some reason he can’t quite name. He grins at Curtis, who’s still watching him with that curious, gentle expression, and then smoothes down the page he’s on. “Okay, then. Chapter Eight. ‘At five o’clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner…’”

* * *

Edgar wakes up in a panic, heart pounding erratically, eyes wide. He can’t see anything in the dark, and it feels oppressive, like the walls of the train are closing in -- until his eyes start to settle, and he can make out the faint shape of the bunk. He hasn’t had a nightmare in years, can’t even remember the last time. He doesn’t even know what it had been about; he can’t remember, except that it was terrifying, and it had felt familiar. Like a memory, perhaps, or maybe one of those recurring nightmares he used to have. The world around him is quiet and calm; the only things he can hear are his own shallow breaths and someone’s snores. 

He tries to roll over and get some more sleep, but he can’t. His mind’s racing, and he’s already awake. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees flashes of  _ something _ , and he’s too scared to find out what. His bed feels too big, too empty, too cold. He can’t be alone right now. 

Eventually, after debating whether or not he’d get kicked out, Edgar stumbles out of bed and climbs up to Curtis’s bunk. He tries to be as quiet as he can, doesn’t want to wake anyone up, but he can’t see very well and he keeps clumsily reaching out, unsure where to put his hand. It’s a bit of a struggle, but he manages to get himself on the bunk, and then it’s just some more careful maneuvering to sneak under the blanket. 

Edgar thinks he’s in the clear, and then he hears Curtis let out a quiet, sleepy groan. It’s too late to go back down -- he’s already awake. 

“Go back to bed,” Curtis mumbles, not even bothering to ask who it is. He probably already knows. 

Edgar doesn’t. Instead, he pushes Curtis over to make more room for himself. “Can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t sleep, had a nightmare. Now move, you’re fuckin’ squishing me.”

Curtis lets out an exasperated sigh, but he does as he’s told anyway. He shifts so that he’s facing Edgar. There’s barely an inch between them; their shoulders are practically touching. 

“A nightmare, huh,” Curtis says, more to himself than to Edgar. He lets out another sigh, and then he’s pulling Edgar closer, right against his chest. “Fine, stay here. Try and get some sleep, okay?”

Edgar nods, already too sleepy to respond. He presses himself as close as he can to Curtis, curls around his body, focuses on his steady, comforting heartbeat. The last thing he feels before he falls asleep is Curtis kissing the top of his head. 

* * *

Neither of them ever bring up the whole sharing-a-bed thing, and Edgar doesn’t mention the kiss, and he thinks it’s fine. At first, it feels like nothing’s changed between them, like it was just another nightmare mishap, but then Curtis starts acting weird. Again. It begins with the dismissals, and then it turns into lingering glances when he thinks Edgar isn’t looking and avoiding him. 

Edgar tries asking Tanya, but she doesn’t know anything. Sometimes he thinks she does actually know something and she’s just not telling him. He even resorts to trying to get something, no matter how insignificant, from Gilliam and Grey. Predictably, Grey just shrugs, grinning, and doesn’t give him a single fucking clue. 

All Gilliam says is, in his usual cryptic way,  _ I think you already know. _ As if that’s helpful in the slightest.

He’s starting to lose hope that he’ll ever find out. No one wants to tell him anything, and they’re all acting like it’s something he should be able to figure out anyway. Which is completely unfair, considering he knows nothing. Curtis certainly isn’t letting him in. He doesn’t even ask Edgar to continue reading  _ Pride and Prejudice _ to him, though he hoped that would maybe fix the weird tension between them. Now, everything is just so much harder to deal with -- he can’t even go to bed without being reminded of the fact that Curtis is right there, but still so distant. 

Edgar thinks that this is what heartbreak must feel like. 

He’s on his way to find Grey -- who, even though he’s completely unhelpful, still has the decency to listen to him complain -- when he gets pulled into a semi-private, unoccupied corner and pressed against the wall. He’s wedged uncomfortably between two barrels, but he doesn’t mind. He can’t find it in himself to mind when Curtis is the one keeping him there. 

“Oh, so you’re finally gonna talk to me again,” Edgar says. 

Curtis doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Your mark. Can I-- can I see it?”

Edgar’s breath catches in his throat. He’s always been so scared of showing it to anyone, of Curtis seeing it and putting two-and-two together, of being rejected. But it’s been a while since it first appeared - there can’t be any way Curtis would know when it’s from. Right? He wouldn’t remember saying it a year ago. It’ll be meaningless to him. 

Edgar lets out a breath and nods. “Okay.”

His hand shakes as he rolls up his sleeve; his heart pounds, so loud he’s sure everyone on the entire train can hear it, as he holds out his wrist, angles it so that Curtis can make out the words.  _ How long have you been standing there? _

Curtis looks down at the mark, then back up, then down again. His gaze lingers on each word like he’s trying to assign them meaning, like he’s trying to figure out who said them. For the first time in his life, Edgar wishes he wasn’t the focus of Curtis’s attention. 

“How long?” Curtis asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“A year,” Edgar says, even though he’s pretty sure Curtis already knows. 

He swears his heart is going to burst right out of his chest. There’s something dangerously exciting about being trapped against the wall, blocked on either side with no way out, unless Curtis chooses to let him go. He likes being so close to him. 

For a long moment, neither of them says anything. And then, just as Edgar’s about to ask what he pulled him aside for, Curtis pushes his sleeve up and holds his wrist out-

And Edgar gets a glimpse of unmistakable words. Delicate cursive, just like his own.  _ Is blue your favourite colour? _

“It’s you,” Curtis whispers, barely audible.

Edgar feels like the whole world stops. He lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. Time slows, and for a second, nothing exists beyond them and their corner of the train. He can’t bring himself to look away from the words, too scared of what he’ll see in Curtis’s expression. 

“Edgar,” Curtis continues, and this time he sounds more strained, like he’s holding himself back on purpose. “I don’t-- I wasn’t supposed to… I don’t know how I--” He pauses, closes his eyes. “Look, we can’t… you’re a  _ kid _ , Jesus, I--”

Edgar reaches out to grab Curtis’s hand. “You don’t get to say that,” he says, reaching his thumb down to press against the words on his wrist. “I’m not a kid, not the way you think. You can’t call me a fucking kid.”

“You’re seventeen,” Curtis argues. 

But he doesn’t pull away; instead, he steps closer. It’s hesitant, unsure, but Edgar can tell he doesn’t actually want to drop this. He obviously wants Edgar as much as he wants him. Obviously  _ loves _ him as much, so intensely, so completely. 

“That doesn’t mean anything on this fucking train,” Edgar says. He pauses, tries to find the right way to say what’s on his mind. “Curtis-- loving you feels like a part of me. Like, I don’t know, like maybe I was always meant to fall for you. Like that fate shit Tanya told me about.”

Curtis lets out a shaky breath, head bowed, and squeezes Edgar’s hand. “Fate, Christ, I-- I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. And I can’t… afford to lose you, I don’t know what I’d-- I shouldn’t have gotten so--”

“You won’t lose me,” Edgar says, a little rushed. Everyone knows better than to promise anything, everything’s too unpredictable, but it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like something that’s been sitting heavy on his mind for a long time, something he  _ needs _ to say. “You won’t lose me, okay?”

Curtis drops his hand. “You can’t know that.”

“Just trust me. I’m not going anywhere.” Edgar holds his wrist out so that their marks align - two perfectly symmetrical lines, in the same cursive, like heartbeats in sync. “We’re soulmates. We would’ve fallen in love one way or another. Look, I… I don’t know much about love, and I don’t know what it was like in the old world, but I think this is what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Curtis slides his hands up to cup Edgar’s jaw, ghosts his thumb over his lower lip, and lets out a soft sigh. And Edgar can’t look away, can’t tear his gaze away from those blue, blue eyes -- his home, his comfort, his sky. No matter what anyone says, he doesn’t think anything could compare. 

“Kiss me,” Edgar whispers. 

His eyes flutter shut as Curtis leans forward, tilts his head and slots their lips together. His lips are chapped and his beard is scratchy, but it’s still absolutely perfect. It feels natural, right, like they were always meant to do this. Like Edgar was always meant to end up pressed against a wall on this train, with nothing but Curtis Everett -- strong, handsome, clever Curtis -- on his mind. He can’t imagine kissing anyone else, doesn’t ever want to find out what it’s like. He’d be content spending the rest of his life right here. 

He opens his mouth, drinks all of Curtis in, takes whatever he can get. His hands come to rest on Curtis’s shoulders, and he spreads his legs apart so that Curtis can wedge his thigh between them, pressing even closer, until there’s practically no space. The wall is uncomfortable and cold behind him, but he doesn’t care. He can’t find it in himself to care, not when all he can think about is Curtis’s tongue, and his hands, and the way he sighs. 

Eventually, when the kiss starts to get messy and they’re both panting, Curtis pulls back. He stays close though, still cupping Edgar’s face, still sharing the same breath. For a moment, they just stand there in comfortable silence, and it’s nice. It’s the most peaceful Edgar’s ever felt on the train, and for a split second, it’s easy to forget about the world around them. 

“I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Curtis says, so honest and tender that it makes Edgar melt. 

Edgar lets out a quiet laugh. “I love you too,” he whispers, and then he kisses Curtis. 

He kisses him again and again and again, pulls him back to their little corner just to get another taste, holds him close and sighs against his skin, truly content for the first time in years. He kisses and kisses and kisses, just because he can.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [ tumblr ](http://babyhargrove.tumblr.com)! please come talk to me about snowpiercer, i have so many feels <3 
> 
> comments & kudos are always appreciated!


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